


Web Sights

by primeideal



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: makinghugospin, Crack, Gen, Leaning on the Fourth Wall, Prosopagnosia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt: Enjolras is face blind, so he keeps labeled photographs of people on his phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been another morning of vigorous discussion. Enjolras was adamantly defending radical laïcité, while Combeferre believed the twenty-first century state should embrace pluralism.  
  
"It is not trivializing our country's weaknesses," Enjolras declared, "to believe that we should not only emphasize our common heritage, but should encourage others to do likewise!"  
  
"That's beside the point," said Combeferre. "A true commitment to individual liberty requires that we respect each person's right to choose their own clothing."  
  
"And such one-dimensional emphases on individual liberty are what has led to the excesses of the free market--"  
  
"You're just resentful because it's even more difficult to tell people apart in headscarves."  
  
Enjolras paused. "No ad hominems."  
  
"What's all this, now?" said Courfeyrac, joining them.  
  
"Oh, hey." Enjolras reached for his cell phone, scrolling through. He continued to thumb upwards, his scowl deepening as he eventually changed direction at the bototm of his screen.  
  
"Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said distantly.  
  
"Do you really need to text someone right now?"  
  
"Well there's a...lot to catch up on, you know. Even if muggers are merely responding to the economic inequities that persist in society, I don't exactly want to have my phone out in public."  
  
"Afternoon, Courfeyrac!" waved Joly, as several of their other friends joined them. "Nice haircut."  
  
Enjolras gave a none-too-subtle sigh of relief as he pocketed the phone. "Was it really necessary?"  
  
"In a deterministic sense?" said Courfeyrac. "No, I don't think so."  
  
"I mean it wasn't like you were able to donate it or anything."  
  
"Not nearly enough for that, nope."  
  
"Then I think it looks--er--strange."  
  
"Well, that's your right."  
  
"Here, hold on." Enjolras raised the cell phone again, snapping a picture of Courfeyrac and hurriedly typing at the screen.  
  
"Hey, if you're going to text a picture of me, at least get my good side."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Then what are you doing?"  
  
"Er--"  
  
"Updating your contact photo so he knows who you are when you call," Combeferre jumped in.  
  
"When I call?" said Courfeyrac. "It doesn't display the names?"  
  
"Of course it does," said Enjolras irritably. "I know how to read."  
  
"Yeah, but. Come to think of it," one of the others called over. "Can you actually tell us apart?"  
  
"Sure I can. I've read all your manifestos, your Facebook political arguments..."  
  
"Yeah, but those are just by our names. What about in the flesh?"

He sighed. "Okay. You are Feuilly, and I know you because you're always linking to your Goodreads site and recommending these obscure authors from overseas. Although sometimes you use these weird textspeak abbreviations that I think you made up yourself, but they're actually kind of cute."  
  
"Okay, well, I'm Bahorel. That one's Feuilly," nodded Bahorel.  
  
Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Okay. You, on the other hand," and here he smiled at a different man, "are Prouvaire, you sometimes retweet random people--and some of those verses from Ezekiel do make me rethink state laïcité, but that's actually besides the point--and do this cool thing where you're always pithy but still actually pretty deep sometimes."  
  
"I'm Grantaire," he sighed.  
  
"Oh. You're not even pithy. And that's also not even a name."  
  
"Neither is Jehan," he pointed out.  
  
"Who's Jehan?"  
  
"Prouvaire," said Grantaire, pointing at Prouvaire.  
  
"Okay, then--it's the principles that count, rather than specifics--whatever. You, over there, are Joly. Sometimes you go to med school although actually I haven't read you posting about that for a while, maybe it's just too gross to go into details? You always remember people's birthdays, like actually remember rather than just rely on that thing in the corner, and can always keep up a good mood. Also you keep tagging someone named Musichetta in your profile pictures."  
  
"Er," said the man being addressed, "I'm actually Lesgles, but you know what, you're close enough."  
  
"I'm Joly," said Joly, waving.  
  
"You're Joly?" Enjolras asked. "Wait, then who's Bossuet?"  
  
"I'm Bossuet," said Lesgles.  
  
"That's not even fair, if you're all going to double up like that."  
  
"See, this is why we need to diversify the group," said Feuilly. "I think it'll be easier for him."  
  
"Wait, okay, who's Grantaire again?" Enjolras asked.  
  
Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Me."  
  
"How many are there of you guys?"  
  
"Of who?"  
  
"I thought there were a handful of people who keep drifting in and out, not attending as regularly as the others, just drinking every once in a while. You'd all gotten matching profile pics, it was some incredibly stupid in-joke I wasn't going to ask about. How many of you are there?"  
  
"It's just been me, all along."  
  
"That's actually incredibly sad."  
  
"Enjolras, don't take this the wrong way," said Combeferre, "but have you considered maybe just trying to learn people's first names instead? It might be easier for you."  
  
"Keep track of twice as many names, for all your faces?" Enjolras shook his head. "No chance."


	2. Chapter 2

"Enjolras," said Combeferre, "you can't just kill that guy."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"There are plenty of reasons."  
  
"Name three."  
  
"Okay. First of all, you don't have any bullets or anything remotely resembling a deadly weapon."  
  
"That can be overcome."  
  
"Not really. You just said we couldn't kill Inspector Javert because we didn't have a weapon."  
  
"I don't necessarily trust Eponine's report."  
  
"We all recognize him. We all know he's a corrupt officer."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Well, obviously, you don't count. And what does Eponine have to do with any of this?"  
  
"She was all like 'that's Javert, don't trust him.'"  
  
"No, Enjolras, that was Gavroche."  
  
"Okay, one of the two."  
  
"Eponine is a woman!"  
  
"It's hard to tell sometimes."  
  
"You're a special case."  
  
"Okay, give me another reason."  
  
"Things are already violent enough as they are. This protest has gotten way out of hand."  
  
"I know, I didn't want it to turn out this way, but we can't let them just attack us without retaliation."  
  
"You didn't even want to kill that Cabuc guy, you just let him go."  
  
"He wasn't a threat!"  
  
"He's a criminal!"  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"Yes, actually, we do, because we've  _seen him before_ , we can remember what he looks like too."  
  
"Third reason."  
  
"Because it's just wrong! We're on the side of progress, we're on the right side of history, we're not going to resort to senseless violence. How young do you think he looks?"  
  
"He looks a little younger than me."  
  
"Than you  _are_? Or than you  _look_?"  
  
"Both. I mean, he looks, like, fifteen, but he could be twenty or so."  
  
"No older than twenty-five, surely. Just a youth. He could be your brother."  
  
"He is."  
  
"Well, there you go, then, let's not kill him."  
  
"But we must."  
  
"Wait. Enjolras.  _Enjolras_?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Did you mean that in the sense of the universal fraternity of all persons? Or is he actually your brother?"  
  
"Um, I think he's actually my brother."  
  
"Enjolras, you can't just--"  
  
"He had that uniform on it was hard to tell."  
  
"Oh for crying out loud." Combeferre loosened the prisoner's restraints. "Is he telling the truth?"  
  
"For once," the prisoner sighed.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's all right. He's always been like this."  
  
"Out of curiosity, how old are you?"  
  
"Twenty."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Two years younger than this guy," he shrugged.  
  
"Okay. I thought he was the oldest, but, you know..."  
  
"I can pass for fifteen, blah blah blah, it runs in the family."  
  
"That explains a lot. Well, I think we should let him go. Look, leave this area entirely, right? Go home to your family and explain that your brother is kind of otherwise engaged."  
  
"Yeah, whatever."  
  
"I don't think it's safe to let him just walk out of here," said Enjolras, "I mean, no hard feelings, but he knows all about our numbers and equipment at this point."  
  
"It was never supposed to  _get_  to this point," Combeferre hissed.  
  
"Doesn't change the facts of the situation."  
  
"Well I'm not going to let you kill him."  
  
"We still need to be realistic--"  
  
And then someone came up from behind, clobbering Enjolras' brother over the head with an empty gun. He slumped to the floor, alive but unconscious.  
  
"That'll keep him out for a while," explained the assailant, "I don't trust him around you, at this point."  
  
"Buys us some time," Combeferre sighed.  
  
"It's a good plan," Enjolras admitted. "Thank you, Bossuet."  
  
"Still Grantaire," said Grantaire.


End file.
